Masquerade by Morgan Rachel

Author:Morgan, Rachel [Morgan, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780987029065
Published: 2012-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Ryn’s hands start to shake. He makes a strangled noise that sounds like ‘no’. His knife clatters onto the floor, and his hands tug at his hair.

My brain takes in the evidence and searches desperately for a different conclusion. Perhaps it isn’t her blood. Or if it is, perhaps she’s wounded and not dead. But that’s a whole lot more blood than a small child can afford to lose, and coupled with the fact that I can no longer sense her . . . Well, I’m struggling to come to any conclusion other than the one Ryn has clearly arrived at. He picks up the jersey from the bed and presses it to his face. His shoulders begin to shake.

I saw my father cry once, after we received the news that Reed had died. There was something terrifying about his tears. I had only ever known him as strong and fearless, and it scared me to realize that some things existed that could break him.

That’s what it’s like to see Ryn cry. It’s wrong. He’s supposed to be the mean guy. The guy who’s easy to hate. The guy I casually throw insults at because I know nothing I say or do can penetrate the armor he’s built up around himself. Witnessing his heartbreak just doesn’t feel right.

He stumbles around to the other side of the bed and slides down with his back against it. His shoulders continue to shake as he buries his face in his hands. I squeeze my eyelids shut over the tears threatening to form. Part of me wants to leave Ryn alone with his grief, but another part of me feels a sudden and unexpected urge to comfort him. I want to say something, but for the life of me I can’t think what. What could I possibly say that will make this any better?

I quietly close the door behind me before walking toward him. I go slowly, as though approaching a dangerous animal. I touch his shoulder, expecting him to throw me off and begin yelling at me. Tell me this is all my fault somehow. But he doesn’t move. I sit down on the floor beside him—a challenging task, given the size of my skirt—and slide my arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. To my great surprise, he leans into me, burying his face in my neck as the shuddering of his shoulders continues. I tense for a moment, then relax and put my other arm around him.

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